


Triggerfinger

by softjohndae



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, at least sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softjohndae/pseuds/softjohndae
Summary: Felix is dancing on knives, his finger is on the trigger and he can't breathe.





	Triggerfinger

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for themes of some quite extreme self-hatred and not-that-extreme panic attacks.

Felix is too big. He’s too clumsy, his feet are too big, his thighs are too thick, even his head is far too large. His hair is weird, he has dirty-looking dots all over his face. His nose is too big. His eyes crinkle oddly when he smiles, and his smile is hideous. And he’s too big. Too big. Too fucking big. 

And he’s also way too small. He’s too short, his hands are unnaturally small compared to his body. His legs are way way way too short, they look wrong, his back is too long compared to his legs and it looks weird. He looks weird, he looks horrible, Felix looks horrible. He can’t stand looking at his reflection in the mirror. 

He’s a disappointment. He doesn’t bend enough, he has a hard time keeping up with the others, because the others are taller. Their legs are longer. And thinner, they look better in everything. They bend like dandelions in the air, so gracefully, so beautifully. Felix doesn’t. Felix is not a dandelion. He’s not a flower, he’s not worthy of one. He’s a weed, just about to be plucked out of the beautiful flowerbed in the magnificent garden, he looks ugly and he ruins the bigger picture. He ruins everything. 

His feet aren’t strong enough, he can’t keep himself up for as long as he has to. But his thighs are still too thick, they shouldn’t be that thick, the others’ thighs aren’t as thick, yet they can still keep themselves up the needed amount of time. And they do it with grace, so god-like. They’re divine, not from this earth. Ethereal. Felix is nothing. Nothing but a disgrace. 

He’s dancing on knives. He’s bending, he’s bowing, his back is stretched in an unnatural angle as his other arm reaches for the stars. He’s dancing on knives, they’re stabbing his feet, but he’s not doing enough. He’s not good enough. He has to dance more, he has to dance more gracefully, he has to reach for the stars, the moon, the sun, he has to be better, he needs to be better, he needs to be better so bad. He has to reach for the stars, even if he’s dancing on knives. 

He looks wrong. He doesn’t look graceful in the mirror. Felix watches himself glide over the dancefloor, he’s not good enough. The soft, yellow light makes the walls look blurry, like they’re disappearing. His ankles don’t bend enough, his bow isn’t pretty enough. He looks wrong, kind of crooked. (“Felix, you need to get your leg higher. Felix, you need to bend your back more. Felix, your ankles are bent in the wrong direction. Felix, learn from the others. Felix, don’t fall behind. Felix, you’re too short, you can’t be on the first row, Felix, your legs are too thick, the trousers don’t look good on you Felix you’re too big Felix you’re too small Felix Felix you need to change Felix you’re not good enough Felix you need to be perfect.”)

And he needs to be, he needs to be perfect, he needs to be perfect so bad, he has to breathe perfect he needs to look like he’s perfect he needs. To be. Perfect. But he’s not, he’s not even good, he doesn’t bend enough, his bows are bad, something twists. 

Felix almost screams out of pain, his back is on fire, the fire spreads down his legs, to his toes, everything is on fire, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care. He is not in pain, he doesn’t look like he’s in pain, his face is neutral, except that it is not neutral, he has a little, just barely there, smile playing on his lips (and he looks hideous), and he dances on knives, his back is not hurting but it is hurting, and it’s killing him, it hurts, it hurts so bad, but he has to smile, the show must go on. 

But Felix is dancing on knives, and he’s numb. He doesn’t feel any pain, and he feels all of the pain at the same time. He can’t remember what he ate in the morning. Did he eat anything in the morning? What time is it now? Felix doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care, he needs to be perfect, he’s hurting, but he’s numb. And it doesn’t even matter whether he ate or not, he’s too big anyway, he needs to be smaller, thinner, more perfect, he needs to fit in the standards, he needs to be what is expected of him. 

Felix loathes himself. He hates the way his pirouettes lack the grace, his pliés look like they’re made with absolutely no interest, the grande jetés are too low. He’s lacking in everything, and he looks horrible, the voice of his instructor is repeating the same mantra in the back of his head, you’re not good enough, you’re not good enough, you’re too this and too that and you’re not this and not that and you’re not good enough and it needs to be perfect you need to be perfect Felix you need to be perfect. 

Felix is about to burst, he has his finger on the trigger, but he can’t get will to move his finger so he dances, and he hurts, his legs hurt so much but he can’t stop, he feels like he’s dancing on knives, the blades cutting through the thin skin of his feet, but he can’t stop, he just can’t stop, he has to go on, the show must go on, that’s what they say, that’s what they always say and Felix just needs to hold on and keep up and continue dancing and he’s hurting so bad, so so bad and he’s not good enough, he’s not perfect, his legs aren’t long enough, he’s not thin enough, he’s not good enough, he’s not tall enough, he’s not small enough, he’s nothing enough, he’s lacking he’s bad he’s the worst he’s hideous he’s wrong, and he’s tired. 

Felix is so tired, he’s tired of everything, he’s tired of trying, he’s worthless. A turn, a pirouette, another, something twists again, and Felix’s knees hit the parquet. His palms slam against the floor hard, his forehead following along (he’s a failure). For a second he sees nothing, his ears are ringing, he pulls his knees underneath him. He tries to get up, he can’t stop now, he needs to get up. 

He can’t.  
He can’t get up. His legs won’t work, they won’t move. His arms won’t take any pressure, they just crumble underneath him. He needs to get up. He can’t fall now, he can’t give up now, he needs to dance, he needs to be perfect, he needs to be good enough for the instructor, for the others. He needs to continue, the show must go on, he can’t fall behind, he needs to dance. He needs to dance. But his legs won’t move, his arms can’t support him, he can’t get up, he can’t. 

Panic. It clasps its cold hands around Felix’s throat. He can’t get up, his body doesn’t work, it doesn’t answer to Felix’s commands. But he needs to, he absolutely needs to get up and dance, even if it feels like walking on knives. Felix shudders, a sob rips out of his throat. Another. He can’t breathe. He can’t move, he’s hurting all over, he’s alone, he’s tired, his finger is on the trigger, but he can’t pull, he can’t do anything but sob. 

His shoulders tremble, his entire body tremors. Tears fall down his cheeks as he pulls his arms close, hugs them around his chest. He’s a failure. An absolute disgrace. He rocks himself fort and back, fort and back with tiny little movements, he needs to get up. He needs to continue dancing (he can’t breathe). He needs to be better (he can’t breathe) he needs to be perfect (he can’t breathe). He needs to get his pirouettes right, his legs to bend enough he can’t breathe, his bows to be perfect he can’t breathe he needs to perfect he can’t breathe he’s hurting he can’t breathe he needs to be perfect for his instructor, for his dance team members, for them all (he can’t breathe), for himself (he can’t breathe), for him. For him. For him. 

“Felix!” But Felix can’t hear, he’s a little too far gone, his finger is on the trigger.  
“Felix!” He’s sobbing, his hands are clasped on his ears (get the voices out), he’s rocking back and forth.  
“Felix!” The voice is no longer a yell, it’s merely a whisper. Someone is holding on to Felix’s shoulder, shaking him.  
“Felix, it’s me. Come back to me.” Someone tears Felix’s hands from his ears, pulls him close.  
“Felix, darling, it’s me, Changbin, I’m right here.” 

The voice is soothing, it’s low, it’s a whisper. It goes up against all of the voices inside Felix’s head, tries to drag him out. Felix wails, clutches on the fabric of Changbin’s shirt.  
“It’s all right now, I’m here baby, I’m here.” Changbin whispers in Felix’s ear.  
“Breathe.” Felix can’t breathe.  
“Follow my voice. Just breathe.” Changbin takes Felix’s hand in his own, rubs the skin of the back of Felix’s palm with his thumb with soothing circles. He begins counting, inhale, one, two, three, four, five, exhale, one, two, three, four, five. Inhale, one, two, three, four, five. Exhale, one, two, three, four, five. 

Felix takes in deep breaths, as Changbin tells him to. His knuckles are white from squeezing Changbin’s shirt so hard, the soothing circles help him focus. They help him get back to present. Slowly he starts to unfold, the voices in his mind going quiet, returning to the back of his mind where they originally rose from. Inhale, Changbin smells like the city, it’s clearly raining outside, a smell of cigarettes and gas fill in Felix’s mind. Exhale, the fabric underneath Felix’s fingers is slightly damp. Inhale, Changbin feels warm, his other arm is holding Felix close. Exhale. 

Changbin slips his other arm under Felix, picks him up like he weighs an armful of feathers. Felix doesn’t open his eyes, he’s still following along to Changbin’s counting, just breathing, clutching to his shirt, seeking for comfort. Inhale, one two three four five, Changbin walks at the same pace with his counting, slow, but steady. Felix is still shaking (he’s still hurting), his mind is a mixture of confusion, numbness and the aftershocks of panic. Changbin sets him down to a sitting position and Felix opens his eyes, finally. 

He’s in the changing room, the sickly blueish light flickering over their heads. Changbin takes off his jacket and wraps it around Felix, finally ending his counting. Felix utters a small, pathetic sound as he has to let go of Changbin, who kneels down in front of Felix. 

A pang of guilt hits Felix right in the guts. He lowers his head, bites the inner skin of his lip a little too hard. Changbin’s been worried about him, Felix can see it in his eyes. Felix had promised to him to tell his whereabouts every day and eat regularly. And to always send him a message whenever he felt bad. And now Changbin is disappointed and worried, and it’s all Felix’s fault. It’s always Felix’s fault, he should just leave him in here, should just dump him and never look back and  
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s all right.” Changbin takes Felix’s hand in his own, rubs those same soothing circles as he wipes the tear running down Felix’s cheek off. Changbin never raises his voice, it’s always low, steady, and calm. He never yells at Felix (Felix thinks he should). Felix sniffles, he’s ashamed, he hates crying in front of Changbin, he hates being weak, especially when he has promised himself not to be weak. Not to be weak in front of Changbin. 

Changbin lets go of Felix’s hand and starts untying the baby pink ribbons around Felix’s ankles.  
“Baby, these are tied too tight.” He whispers, Felix looks away, pink tinting the tips of his ears and dusting over his cheeks. It hurts. It hurts, so bad, Felix bites the inner skin of his lower lip again, it draws blood. Changbin gets the ribbon untied and slowly slides the pointe shoe off. Felix takes in a sharp breath, Changbin says nothing. He knows he has blisters, bad, probably.  
“Did you forget your toe pads?” Felix doesn’t hear any blaming tone in Changbin’s voice. Felix nods, they both know that it is a lie. 

Changbin unties the other shoe silently, slides that off, too, before rising to his feet. He opens the locker right in front of them, knowing well it’s Felix’s. Changbin’s been in the locker room many times. Way too many times. He takes bandaids, and a water bottle from the locker before sitting on Felix’s feet. He hands the water bottle to Felix, the bottle that should have been with him in the dance studio.  
“Drink.” Felix does as he is told and lifts the bottle to his lips (too much water makes you bloated) and drinks. Changbin puts bandaids on the splinters, some of them still bleeding a little, careful not to hurt Felix any more. When he’s done, Felix has downed half of the bottle. Changbin stands up and sits down next to Felix, throwing his other leg on the other side of the locker room bench. He’s facing Felix, who is looking away. 

Changbin takes the bottle from him, sets it down on the ground. Felix rubs the flowing tears away a little too hard, and Changbin notices and takes his hands in his own again.  
“What happened?” Felix doesn’t want to answer, but he knows he has to. It’s one of their rules, his and Changbin’s.  
“T-the practice last Monday…” Felix takes in a deep breath, still shivering; “it didn’t go well.” Changbin nods, encouraging Felix to continue. 

“T-the i-instructor t-told me I wasn’t g-g-good enough.” Felix’s lower lip is trembling, he’s gripping Changbin’s hands again. Changbin lets out a breath and Felix can feel the anger in it. For a split second Felix panics, he doesn’t know if the anger is because of him or for him. Then he looks Changbin in the eyes and knows that it’s not because of him.  
“Did she say something else?” Changbin asks, and despite the anger, his voice is completely calm.  
“S-she said that I… I’m… too short to be in the f-front row. A-and then she said that my stretches weren’t good enough and that I need to do more and bend a little father and I couldn’t keep up properly and then she said my-my thighs are too thick and that I’m too clumsy and my hair is weird and my freckles are ugly and I look ugly and I’m too short and and I don’t fit in and I’m not good enough and I’m not perfect-“ 

“No, no, Felix.” Tears fall down Felix’s cheeks again, he’s sobbing, nearly hysteric. Both Felix and Changbin know, which of the insults are actually made by the instructor, and which ones are from the demons inside Felix’s head.  
“Look at me. Look at me.” Changbin lifts his hand on Felix’s cheek and wipes away most of the tears. Gently he turns Felix’s head to properly face him. The touch is comforting.  
“Your thighs are just fine. You are a dancer, a strong one, your thighs are all muscle and they carry you as they have to, they’re not too thick nor too thin. You are many things but clumsy is not one of them. Your hair is beautiful, it’s not weird. Your freckles are what make you so much you, they’re beyond gorgeous, like the sun has left little kisses on your cheeks.”

Changbin wipes Felix’s wet cheeks again, he’s finally getting the contact he has sought for. Felix is listening, he’s in this moment.  
“You’re breathtaking, Felix. You’re ethereal, not ugly. You’re beautiful, and no instructor is going to change that. Your height is good, it’s not too much nor too little. You don’t fit in, because none of us fit in. The standards are meant to be guidelines, not something to follow along directly.” Changbin presses a kiss on Felix’s forehead, feather-like, comforting. 

“You’re good enough.” He presses another kiss on Felix’s cheek. “You’re good enough.” He presses a kiss on Felix’s other cheek.  
“No one is perfect, not even the world’s best ballet dancer. You can’t be perfect, it’s not just possible. And you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to be you. You are good enough, Felix. Do you understand?” Felix looks Changbin in the eyes, sniffles. He nods (he doesn’t completely understand, but it’s Changbin who says it, and he’s probably right). 

“Good.” Changbin whispers and presses his forehead against Felix’s. He lets his hands fall down and wraps them around Felix’s waist, pulling him a little closer.  
“I’m sorry.” Felix whispers, Changbin shakes his head.  
“You have nothing to be sorry of. But I need you to tell me, when you’re feeling bad.” Felix nods. The leather jacket over his shoulders is heavy, but it’s warm, and it’s comforting. His feet no longer feel like he’s dancing on knives, the pain has turned to nearly dull throbbing.  
“And I want you also to remember that bad days come and go. I know you’re a great dancer, and I know you’re one of the bests in your team. Sometimes there are bad days in the practice room when nothing works out and your stretches don’t go as well or whatever shit your instructor told you. But that is temporary.” Changbin tightens his grip around Felix; 

“You’re forever, and I’m not planning on losing you.” Felix nods again. He doesn’t know how to say it, how to explain to Changbin how grateful he is for him. How much he means to him. So he leans in and connects their lips to a chaste kiss. Changbin’s lips are soft against Felix’s chapped ones, he tastes like mint. His thumbs are rubbing circles on Felix’s lower back. Felix’s fingers play with the hem of Changbin’s shirt again. After the kiss breaks, Changbin kisses Felix’s temple once more as Felix leans his forehead on Changbin’s shoulder. A wave of exhaustion washes over him, wrapping him in tight embrace. The clouds in Felix’s mind are disappearing, his senses are filling with Changbin. He’s comfortable. He’s safe. Changbin’s fingers thread through Felix’s hair, they stay like that for a while, just silent.  
“You’re tired, we should go home, my little swan prince.” Felix nods. He’s stopped playing with Changbin’s shirt, just breathing in the other. He smiles a little at the nickname, weakly pushes Changbin’s thigh. 

“Yeah, we should go home.” He whispers.  
Felix isn’t dancing on knives anymore, his finger is no longer on the trigger. He can breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> me: im never gonna write angst about skz they're soft babies who only deserve love and happiness  
> me: But What If 
> 
> this little prompt-idea-thing as been in my mind for so long and now i finally wrote it properly! also i'm certainly not used to writing angst but hey sometimes u just gotta learn new things so i hope i did well enough and you, my dear reader, enjoyed this little piece! n e ways feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/charmolypis), i mostly complain about me not having time to write anything and ramble abt skz and nct!


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